


Abandoned

by KatDancer



Series: Tales of the Inquisitor [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatDancer/pseuds/KatDancer
Summary: Nyssa Trevelyan wakes alone, in the stables.





	1. Abandoned

Nyssa had awoken alone.

For a moment, she was cold and disoriented, and she looked around blearily, trying to make sense of the world.  Straw was scratching her, and she was sore and naked and….

 _Blackwall_.

She looked around the upper story of the barn, but aside from a cat prowling about looking for mice, she was alone.  She could hear the mounts shuffling and making quiet noises to themselves, and Horsemaster Dennet speaking to them softly.  Maker, if she could hear _him_ ….

Nyssa raked her fingers through her hair, and felt straw in it.  She blushed, groping for her clothing.  As she did, she noticed the soft gleam of metal by her feet, and leaned over.

Blackwall’s Warden-Commander badge.

A chill raced down Nyssa’s spine.  Why would he leave this here, with her?

* * *

 

 

By the time she’d made it down the stairs to the ground level of the barn, Dennet had blessedly found something to do outside by the well.  She was more than half convinced by the way he studiously stayed at the well that he HAD heard what had happened last night, and was trying to give her an escape route.

Might well be he was trying to give HIMSELF a way out of an uncomfortable encounter, too.

A piece of paper caught her attention, balanced against the griffon riding toy Blackwall had been carving.  She picked it up, her stomach knotting with dread.

 

 

_My lady:_

_There is little I can say that will ease this pain.  Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed._

_I am deeply sorry._ \-- _Blackwall_

 

She stood, staring at the note, her mind racing.  He'd.... left?  He'd _left_ , and had tried to make it seem... _good_ that he'd left?

She gripped the parchment hard, unconscious of crumpling it in her suddenly damp fist. It _couldn't_ be, he _loved_ her and she loved him, he _wouldn't_   --

Unless...

Her cheeks burned with shame.  She hadn't told him, not until they were already.... that this -- that _he_ was her first love.

He'd stopped, frozen for a moment, and she'd seen something in his eyes -- indecision? Worry?  For a moment she'd thought he'd stop, and had begged him to go on.  He'd seemed to come to some decision, and instead of stopping, he'd been very gentle and compassionate, attentive to her beyond all imaginings.  He'd coaxed her to pleasure repeatedly, until she'd dozed off, limp and exhausted, nestled against his side.

Maybe.... maybe he _hadn't_ liked her.  Maybe her inexperience....  Or worse, maybe he'd _never_ liked her.  Maybe he had only wanted to bed the Inquisitor.  People were attracted to power, and she was no fool -- she was attractive enough, physically....

Maybe that was all he'd _ever_ wanted of her.

Her stomach twisted with nausea as she turned toward the barn door and saw a scout standing there.

* * *

 

“Sister Leliana has confirmed it.  Blackwall has gone.”

Nyssa nodded slightly, the parchment damp and crumpled in her fist, then noticed the look of sympathy in the runner’s eyes.  She looked away quickly, her face suffusing with shame.  “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely able to get around the lump in her throat.  “That will be all.”

She didn’t run.  A lifetime of Circle training took over, and she walked purposefully but without unseemly, eye-catching haste – her hand wrapped so tightly around the Constable’s badge that the edges cut painfully into her hand.

 

* * *

 

He should never have allowed her to accompany him back to the stables.

Blackwall tightened the cinches on his -- well, the Inquisition's horse, really, but the little gelding he rode most often when they went into the field.  Brown as dirt, steady, with a deceptive gait that ate up distance even with a hairy lummox like him aboard.

The gelding turned to look at him, nudging the warrior with a soft nicker.  Blackwall usually had a carrot or an apple for him, but now, tonight -- he hadn't taken the time to get one from the kitchens.

He glanced at the ceiling above him praying that even this slight noise wouldn't give him away, heard nothing, and turned back to his task.  With every buckle fastened, disgust, guilt and sorrow made him more desperate to be away.

He'd known he was worthless.  He'd known and he'd begged Nyssa to believe him when he said he was nobody, and that there no life they could have together.  And now she was another regret, another stain on his soul -- another life he'd fouled and ruined, just because he was too weak to do the right thing and leave her alone.  A woman twenty years his junior... bad enough he was old enough to be her father, but the life she'd had forced on her had left her far more innocent than he'd realized.

He'd _wanted_ to believe her.  That was his only excuse, and still, the blame was his entirely, not hers.  He'd _wanted_ to believe her when she told him she knew he was a good man, he'd _wanted_ to believe her when she looked at the death and destruction in his wake and said, "You don't have to face this alone."  And blessed Andraste, the way she looked at him, and the gentleness of her touch... the way she believed in him, trusted him....

He should never have let her accompany him back from the tavern.  They'd drunk some, but he wouldn't excuse himself with that.  He hadn't been drunk.  Neither had she.  The difference was _he'd_ known, he'd known from the moment he asked her to accompany him to the tavern that he would be leaving.  He'd known what he was doing, and couldn't -- and didn't want to stop.  She had probably imagined this was the start of their life together when he knew, he'd _always_ known, it was goodbye.

 _Another_ lie.  _Another_ betrayal.

He leaned forward, his head against the saddle, a hand over his eyes, his breath unsteady. The one person in the world who thought him worth something, and to do this to her....

He swallowed, straightened, and continued his task, now fastening his saddlebags to the saddle.

He'd taken her innocence on a stack of hay bales in a stable.

The shame of that hit him like a hammer blow; it took his breath away.  He hadn't realized until her sharp gasp, and when he'd realized, tried to disengage, she'd clutched him tighter and pleaded with him not to worry, to go on, that she loved him....

A worthless bastard like him.

He'd loved her like a man possessed, whispering his adoration of her with every stroke -and then he'd loved her again, kissing her, stroking her, licking her.  He'd managed to build her pleasure, tease her until she came, stifling her cries in his shoulder.

He could still taste her.  Maker, he had thought to take the memory of her to his pyre, but once he realized that he was the first man she'd lain with, he'd used every technique he knew to bring her to fruition, three times to his once.  To leave her with at least _one_ good memory of him.

"She's happy."

He gasped, whirling.  Cole, of course.  "Maker's balls," he swore, taking the horse's reins.

 _"Guilt, shame, another life ruined, another lie, another betrayal -- go before I can't. It's better this way."_   Those pale eyes looked at him from beneath a fringe of limp blonde hair and that ridiculous hat.  "You don't want to go.... and she needs you."

"The _last_ thing she needs is me," Blackwall said.  "Maker forgive me for hurting her like this -- I know I can't."  He looked at the strange spirit boy.  "Let her sleep," he begged.  "Let her have some happiness before she realizes.... before I'm gone."  He led the horse outside.

"She loves you."  Cole sounded a little confused, a little worried.  "She'd _help_ , I know she'd help!  She'd want to -- "

" _No_ , Cole!"  The whisper came sharp, and fierce.  "She mustn't _know_ , she _mustn't_.... it's kinder to let her remember me as she sees me -- not as I _am_."

Blackwall mounted the gelding.  "Let her dream," he repeated softly.  "Let her have some peace.  Maker knows she gets little enough of it."

He'd left the note on the unfinished griffon riding toy -- and the Warden-Constable badge beside her.

Let her love the dream.  The reality would be a bitter disappointment.

He'd ridden through the silent, empty courtyard and out of Skyhold, alone.

* * *

 

 

When Dorian knocked at Nyssa's door a few hours later, it was opened after a good few minutes of fumbling.

Nyssa was swaying slightly as she held the door open, a bottle of Gwaren whisky clutched by its neck in her left hand.  The bottle glowed a peculiar green as the mark pulsed against the cold glass. “ _Dorian!_ ” she said, a bit too loudly.  “C’mon in, have a drink with me, cousin!”

Dorian stepped in, shutting the door and guiding her back up the steps with his hand gently resting on the small of her back.  “I see it’s been that sort of day for _you_ this time, Nyssa.”

“He’s gone,” she said, plopping gracelessly onto the couch by the top of the stairs and taking another swig from the bottle.  She coughed, then looked away at the pattern in the carpet.  “Gone,” she repeated.  “Without a word.”

She didn't need to clarify:  runners had been racing through the library up to and down from Leliana's roost all day.  It hadn't been long before he knew that Blackwall had gone, whither no one knew. 

“Somehow it doesn’t feel very gratifying to have been right about his boorishness.” Dorian reached over and gently tugged the bottle from her fingers, then took a swig himself.  His nose wrinkled at the taste.  “Nyssa, I thought you had better taste than _this_.”

“It’s strong,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair.  “I _need_ strong.”

He considered the missing Warden, and kicked himself for having encouraged her in her pursuit.  Yes, she had been attracted to Blackwall, probably his physical strength.  He WAS quite a burly man, and muscular.  What must he have seemed to her when mages tended to be lithe?  He was larger than Cullen, and any of the templars in the courtyard sparring.   He must have felt safe, like protection.  But there was also that quiet resolve to do one's duty as one must.  Duty, sacrifice, and honor.  Nyssa had fallen for that, too.

Dorian huffed, trying to distract her as he considered how best to help her.  "I suspect the last thing you'll need in the morning is the hangover this swill will trigger."  He sat beside her on the couch.  "But, if needs must, we'll be miserable together.  Mother Giselle can shoot me some more dirty looks and make a few veiled comments about my undue influence on you, but ha! the joke will be on her -- it will be _your_ influence over _me_!"

Nyssa stopped, looking stricken.  "I don't want that 'bad Tevinter' nonsense coming back up."

"Well, I AM a bad Tevinter.  Ask my countrymen."  He smiled at her, leaning and crossing his leg negligently.  His rings flashed as he saluted her with the bottle.

Nyssa flopped back against the couch, groaning.

Dorian took one more swallow of the whiskey, then set it out of her reach, shaking his head at the taste.  "People come and go from Skyhold for all sorts of reasons.  Why is this _particularly_ upsetting to you?  I know you were fond of...."

She closed her eyes, took a breath.  "Because I spent the night with him," she said in a small voice.  "And when I woke, he was gone."

Dorian went still, his grey eyes darkening.  Oh, he knew how that went, well enough.  The difference being that _he_ had known each time what the outcome would be come the morning.  Clearly, Nyssa had not.

She sat forward, elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair nervously.  "I feel so _stupid_ ," she said, her voice tight and shaky.  "I'm not... I hadn't...."  She stilled, unable to meet his eyes.  "Maybe.... I just wasn't g--"

Maker.  She was _ashamed_. 

Dorian shook his head. "Stop.  I _refuse_ to listen to you running down my best friend."  There was anger smouldering in his eyes, but Nyssa could also see -- not pity, but understanding.  He put a hand on her shoulder.  "No matter what you may think or feel, it has _nothing_  to do with you, and everything in the world to do with his being a swine."

Nyssa shook her head bitterly.  "Everyone leaves me," she muttered.

"Nyssa...."

She looked over at him.  " _Everyone_ , Dorian.  My parents... they couldn't get the templars out to take me away fast enough.  When I was in the Circle, I didn't.... I wasn't able to inherit but I had it pounded into my head that there had better _not_ be any Trevelyan mage bastards.  So I wouldn't.... and my _friend_ decided to move on to someone who _would_."  She drew a short, shuddering breath.  "And when the Circle dissolved -- my Aunt Lucille took me, _just_ long enough to send me to the Conclave with my templar and clerical cousins.  They're all dead now."  She sat stiffly.  "So _this_ , this being alone thing, it's not new to me.  But it still hurts.  It hurts that no one stays, ever."

He sighed, and there was something unreadable in his eyes as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with _me_ , my dear.  Poor as that company may be."  He felt her start to relax against his shoulder fractionally, and patted her back gently, soothingly.  "And one of the _first_ things we are going to work on, beside your perception that you are somehow unworthy of people's regard, is your pedestrian taste in alcohol.  Surely as Inquisitor you should have better ways to drown your sorrows!"

He sat there, soothing her, until she finally fell asleep.

 


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers are not fun.

Nyssa felt unspeakably ill.

She’d awakened with the hangover Dorian had warned against, her head pounding and her stomach heaving. She’d thrown off the fur over her, lurched off the couch and nearly dived beneath her bed, yanking the chamberpot close just in time to be noisily sick.

  
“What!” Dorian startled from a doze in a chair he’d dragged near the fireplace, nearly knocking the book propped against his chest to the floor. He looked over at her groggily, his hair somewhat tousled and his clothing rumpled. He sighed, deftly setting the book on her desk and getting up to pour her a mug of water from a pitcher.

  
Nyssa wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, looking very much like she wasn’t sure she if she’d rather die than feel this sick.

  
“I did try to warn you, my dear,” Dorian said, walking over to hand her the mug. When she looked up in miserable disbelief, he explained, “It’s water. Drink it down, slowly. Trust me, you’ll be happier once you do.”

  
Nyssa covered her eyes. “Maker,” she said softly, “even my hair hurts.”

  
He watched while she rinsed her mouth out and spit into the chamberpot, then drank the water slowly.

  
“Ah, there now. Here comes the ugly bit.” He helped her get up and nodded to the door. “Right, you’ve got rid of a good deal of what ails you, we’ll get you some more water, but it’s down to the tavern for you.”

  
“The tavern?” Nyssa groaned. “Not gonna drink ever again!”

  
“That’s what I say every time, too,” he said. “But no, it’s not for more drink. The Chargers will be there, and Stitches has an amazing little potion that will clear your head.” He patted her shoulder. “Bull introduced me to it – not too long after we returned from meeting my father.”

  
Nyssa turned to look at him, stricken. “Dorian, did you spend the night here?”

  
“Bull is perfectly capable of managing for himself, you know,” he said, guiding her down the steps.

 

* * *

 

The potion had tasted awful -- bitter and sour, not unlike her mouth had tasted after being sick -- but within fifteen minutes, both headache and nausea had eased.  She did not feel well, _per se_ , but she felt a good deal better.

Dorian had dropped into the seat beside Bull's in the tavern, and Nyssa had given them both a nod as she headed back out the door towards the keep. 

She had gotten halfway up the steps to the main hall when Leliana came hurrying out of the doors.  "Inquisitor!"

Nyssa stopped as Leliana came to her, pressing a page that seemed as if it had been crumpled and smoothed out again into her hands.  "What..."

"It's a page from one of my reports," the spymaster said quickly.  "I don't know how he came to have it -- but it was found among Blackwall's belongings."  Leliana pointed to a section of it.  "It talks about an execution that's to take place in Val Royeaux - a man named Mornay."

Nyssa shook her head.  "But why...?"

"Inquisitor, the execution is to take place in three days.  If you wish to find out _why_ he left, you must go now."

Nyssa searched Leliana's face.  The woman seemed adamant that time was of the essence.  But _why_?  What could the execution of a man declared a traitor to Orlais and to the Empress personally have to do with anything?

Nyssa looked back at the paper, frowning.  Did she _want_ to go?  She had to admit that part of her was dreading it -- dreading that if she did find him, Blackwall would tell her exactly what fault or faults of hers had driven him away.

Perhaps she couldn't make him stay.  She didn't think she wanted to, truth be told.  If he preferred to leave, then let him go, but she wanted to hear from his lips _why_.  It may have been the hangover, but she was annoyed.  Let him say it to her, as painful as it might be to hear, rather than let him skulk out of her life like a coward.

 _"Never be good enough, never be worthy, but I have to try."_ Cole appeared at Nyssa's elbow, somewhat agitated, and Nyssa's lips compressed.  He meant well, she knew, but to have her emotions laid bare before Leliana caused Nyssa to blush with shame.  "Cole...."

 _"You don't have to face this alone."_ Cole wrung his hands.  "Please.  We can help."

Nyssa looked over to Leliana, who shrugged.  "If you want to get there before Mornay hangs...."

Nyssa spoke rapidly.  "Send a runner to the tavern, tell Dorian to meet us in the stables."  Even saying it her voice wavered slightly.  "Cole, get Varric -- the four of us can travel fast and light."

 

 


	3. Revelations

It had been a rather grim trip to Val Royeaux.

Nyssa had very nearly brought her favorite mount, a dracolisk, but even under the best of circumstances they were tetchy beasts.  With her mood as it was, the beast would have been all but unmanageable.  She instead took a large bay gelding, and often she rode out ahead of the group, impatient to get to the end of their journey.  Varric and Dorian left her alone, giving her the space she desired; Cole had tried to speak to her and been rebuffed.

* * *

 

As they walked into Val Royeaux, it was raining. 

"Ugh, this weather is positively miserable," Dorian huffed.

They were hardly a difficult group to spot.  Nyssa was in her blindingly white and gold Herald of Andraste armor, with a golden staff topped with a dragon with its wings and talons spread.  Dorian beside her, resplendent in white leather with gold and black serpents winding around the sleeves and legs of his armor, stood on her left, slightly behind her, and Cole, dressed in brown leather with a deep green velvet doublet beneath stood behind her to the right, the rain shedding off his ridiculously oversized hat.  Of the four, Varric probably looked the least exceptional in his brown leather duster.

Varric grunted, nodding ahead of them where there was a gallows set up.  Even in the rain, there was a sizable crowd.  "Well, this is grim."

Dorian shook his head as the charges were read out.  The slaughter of the Callier family.  Treason.  "Who _is_ this man to Blackwall?  A brother?  A friend?"

The man, Mornay, looked utterly broken and resigned to his fate.  He closed his eyes and said not a word in response to the charges, nor moved except to shudder when the rope was pulled around his neck.

Cole was vibrating with nervous energy.  "They're going to kill him!"

Dorian turned to Varric.  "Observant, this one is...."

"Quiet."  Nyssa was straining to look around the crowd.  She needn't have looked far.

"STOP!"

As Blackwall mounted the gallows, his eyes found hers -- how could they not?  She stood out like a lily in a field of green.  She saw his eyes widen, then a shudder run through his frame as he tore his gaze away to focus on the prisoner, bailiff and executioner.

"A Grey Warden."  The bailiff stepped back to let him speak.

"This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him."  Blackwall faced the crowd squarely, speaking clearly, each word ringing out like justice.  "Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier!"  He glanced over his shoulder at the man.  "He should not die for that mistake!"

"Then find me the man who gave the order," the bailiff said impatiently.

Nyssa froze, when Blackwall turned to look at her.  She wasn't aware that she was holding her breath. When his eyes met hers, filled with sorrow and determination, she felt her heart slam to a stop.  

"Aw, shit," Varric murmured beside her.

Nyssa's breath exploded from her as she lurched forward, stomach churning, with one desperate cry.  "BLACKWALL!"

He shook his head, locking eyes with her.  "No.  I am _not_ Blackwall.  I never _was_ Blackwall.  Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years.  I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am."

Mornay looked up, and for the first time since being dragged to the gallows, his eyes flickering with -- hope?  interest?  He turned slowly, recognition dawning.  "You...."  Some color leeched back into his cheeks.  "After all this time....

Nyssa started pushing through the crowd, desperate to get to the gallows, to stop the words, whatever they were, that were to come next. The words would be as deadly as an assassin's blade.

 _"Stop, let it end, dear Maker let it end, please!"_   Cole intoned as Varric too began to elbow his way forward.

Dorian grabbed Cole's arm.  "Whose thoughts are those, Cole?  _His_?  _Hers_?"  he asked, swiftly and softly, looking at the spirit.  
"Yes," Cole answered simply.

Nyssa had reached the front of the crowd, was steps from the edge of the platform and reaching toward him as if she could stop it all if only she were closer.

"It's over.  I'm done hiding."  He faced the crowd again.  "I gave the order.  The crime is mine."

He looked down, and locked gazes with Nyssa again, as he pronounced the last words like a death knell.  "I am Thom Rainier."

His eyes closed a moment, and then he looked back up at her a moment before turning away to go with the guards.

 

 

 


	4. The Truth

Nyssa shuddered as she stepped into the cool, dank entry room of the Val Royeaux jail.  The breeze wafting up from the cells below smelled faintly of damp hay, sweat, excrement and despair.  She remembered that smell well enough.  That was the smell she'd awakened to a lifetime ago (it seemed), below the Chantry in Haven, with swords at her throat, chains on her wrists, and the mark tearing her apart. 

That memory kept her out of the cells below Skyhold when she knew there were prisoners there who needed to be judged.  When she knew they were empty she went below, and insisted that the hay be changed and kept sweet-smelling, that the floors in the cells be scrubbed, that as much be done as possible to encourage fresh air to circulate.  And she had runners who informed her of the state of the cells when she did not go there.  The cells were to be a place to hold prisoners -- and on the off chance the prisoners held there were actually found not guilty, they should not be a punishment in and of themselves.

Would that the gaoler in Val Royeaux thought the same.  But no, heading into the darkness was going to be a nightmare for her.

"I'm here to see the prisoner," she said quietly.  Varric, Dorian and Cole had been sent to the cafe.  What she needed to say to Bl-- to _Rainier_ , she didn't think Varric or Dorian wanted or needed to hear, and she hoped against hope they would distract Cole enough to keep him from interjecting.

The gaoler snorted.  "Good.  You might not find 'im here tomorrow.  Go ahead, Inquisitor."

* * *

 

Nyssa walked to the furthest cell in the block.  There, sitting on the cot, head hanging and hands folded, was Blackwall.  He looked like a man defeated and despite the shocks, despite the hurt, she felt tears begin to well up looking at him this way.

She stood there quietly, blinking and willing the tears not to fall. 

"I didn't take Blackwall's life.  I traded his death."  He didn't look up at her as he explained slowly and painfully.... as if every word were dragged from him unwillingly.  "He wanted me for the Wardens.  But there was an ambush.  Darkspawn.  He was killed."

Nyssa took another step closer, hoping he would look up, meet her eyes.  But she listened, quietly.

"I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man.  But a good man, the man HE was, wouldn't have let another die in his place."

"It was brave of you to confess," she offered quietly.

"It was _not_ brave," he said sharply, "It was _necessary_.  And it doesn't make up for the pain I've caused!"  He jumped to his feet, startling Nyssa into stepping back with a gasp.  "Don't you understand how terrible my crime was?"  He slammed the bars with his fists.  "I didn't tell my men what they were doing, and when it came to light, I ran!  I left them to face the consequences for my crime!"

He shook the bars again, anguished.  "I'm a traitor, a coward, a murderer!   _That_ is who I really am."  He crumpled, sliding slowly to his knees.  "That is who I am," he repeated, his voice tight.

She knelt outside the cell, not touching, but close.  "I _have_ to believe that there was truth in what we had -- and good in you."

"I would have spared you this pain.  Wouldn't it have been better for you to think I was a noble man, a Grey Warden, than this?"

She shook her head.  "So this was supposed to make it _easier_?  For me to think you'd left me, that there was something wrong with me?  To wonder for the rest of my life whether you were dead in some pit fighting darkspawn?"

He sighed.  "I'm sorry.  I never meant to hurt you.  When I heard Cyril was to be hanged -- I couldn't let that happen to him in my stead."

She touched the bars.  "Tell me everything," she said quietly.

He shook his head.  "For all the good it'll do."  He met her eyes for a moment, then looked away.  "I meant to tell you there, on the Storm Coast.,  I took you there, to explain... to tell you why we couldn't be.  Then you found the badge."

She nodded.  "I thought it was yours."

He nodded.  "I should have told you then -- but I lost my nerve.  You wanted me to be that man.... and _I_ wanted it, more than anything.  So I let you believe it, let us both believe I could be that man."

Nyssa closed her eyes, took a deep breath.  "Tell me what you did."

 

* * *

 

 

When Nyssa came up from the cells, she felt ill.  To take money to kill a supporter of Celene's... and to kill children, although she believed him when he said he hadn't known Lorette Callier and the children would be with him.  To leave death in his wake and others to face the consequences....

But that _wasn't_ the man he was now.  She was sure of that.  _No one_ could have lied that convincingly about their morals, and he had talked about her about those without prompting on many occasions... the theme always being _think of the consequences of your actions -- think of your men -- think of the people you must protect._ She could understand all too well now why such things preyed upon his own conscience. _  
_

_"Inquisitor."_

She looked up as she came into the guardhouse.  Cullen was there.

"Leliana sent this report on Thom Rainier."  He handed it to her.

"She knew," Nyssa said dully.  She hardly glanced at it.  "Give me the highlights."

"In truth, it would have been very difficult to connect Blackwall and Rainier," Cullen said quietly.

Nyssa looked up, and saw the concern writ large across her general's face.  She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will the headache that was encroaching on her consciousness away.  She knew that any kind of a decision on this matter was altogether too personal for her to decide on her own.

"Cullen -- your thoughts?"

He frowned fiercely.  "What he _did_ \-- and what he did to his _men_ \-- it's unconscionable.  Treason, murder -- then letting _them_ reap the consequences while _he_ took up a new identity."  Then he shook his head.  "And yet, you found him defending villagers from demons and bandits, he's fought darkspawn without hesitation despite the danger of catching the Blight sickness, he's fought and bled for the Inquisition's cause."  He sighed.  "I don't _understand_ the man.  He finally had the chance to shake off his past for good, and he throws it all away...."

Nyssa looked down at her hands.  "He felt it necessary."  She shook her head.  "He spent so much time _pretending_ to be the better man, he never realized he'd _become_ one."

Cullen sighed.  "We don't have to accept this as it is -- we _do_ have resources."

Nyssa nodded.  "All right.  To Skyhold -- I want to hear our options."

 

 


	5. Strategy Session

Nyssa stood at her side of the map table uneasily, pretending to study the map.  "What are our options?"

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.  "We _could_ send a small force to Val Royeaux to break him out of jail,"  he said slowly.  Clearly, he was not happy with the idea, but he presented it anyway.  "With a large enough force, perhaps the city guard....."

Nyssa looked up sharply.  "No.  We are _not_ going to have a skirmish in the capital.  We've worked hard to establish our legitimacy and gain the alliance of the Empress, and we're not going to throw that away by launching an invasion, no matter how small."

Cullen looked relieved.  "I fear that would have meant casualties on both sides.  Were it my post, I would fight to defend it.  And you're right, it would make us appear as nothing more than thugs."

"Have you not made friends with such august groups as the Carta and the Crows?"  Morrigan asked, fixing Nyssa with her strange golden eyes.  "Oh, don't look so shocked.  The Hero of Ferelden was herself.... involved with the Antivan Crows.  'Tis a necessity for any group that needs its enemies eliminated without it tying directly back to them."  She smirked.  "And a little bird has told me that your spymaster has indeed been in contact with a freelancer of our acquaintance:  one Zevran Arainai, if I am not mistaken."

Leliana frowned.  "A little bird?  or a shapeshifting apostate?" 

Morrigan shrugged.  "It matters not.  What _does_ matter is that these, too, are tools at our disposal."

Nyssa sighed.  "I'm not looking to get anyone killed -- and I don't want to be beholden to the Carta.  Keeping both at arm's length unless our interests are mutual would seem the best idea.  Asking for a favor places us in a very uncomfortable position."

Morrigan nodded, and gracefully stepped back from the table.  "I thank you, Inquisitor -- for considering my suggestion without rejecting it out of hand.  I know we are but newly met."  She smiled again at Leliana.  "'Tis refreshing not to be doubted from the outset."

Leliana glared at Morrigan.  Clearly, there was some animosity there.  Then she said, "We have a possible solution.  One of our men has betrayed us -- and he is a similar build and looks much like Rainier.  We have my spies exchange the men -- spiriting Rainier out of the capital and leaving the traitor bound and gagged.  They hang him, and Rainier is no more -- Blackwall lives again."

"He didn't want anyone dying in his stead.  That was precisely why he gave himself up."  Nyss shook her head.  "If this man truly is guilty of the crime and convicted, we should dispatch him ourselves.  And if such a replacement were to be discovered!  The scandal would be enormous, and Bl-- Rainier would again be facing the gallows."

She looked over to Josephine.  Nyssa had often chosen the most diplomatic solution before.

"Well," Josephine said, a tad reluctantly, "Celene and the Empire _do_ owe you a debt of gratitude.  If not for your intervention, Grand Duchess Florianne would have murdered the entire court.... and your efforts eliminated Grand Duke Gaspard as her rival."  She pushed a stray hair behind her ear.  "Not to mention your efforts to reunite her and... Marquise Briala."

"Will it cause much ill-will?" Nyssa asked, biting her lip.

"This could damage our relationship with Orlais," Cullen said.  "Callier was a supporter of Celene, and neither she nor the people will forget that _children_ were murdered."

Josephine sighed.  "I... believe I can manage to get her to agree to have him tried here.  We will likely have to support her in a future endeavor... but I think I can manage it  It is also the only way we know for sure that he will not be in danger of hanging in Orlais for this offense."

"My way would be easier," Leliana insisted.  "He stayed hidden this long -- he could do it again."

Nyssa shook her head.   "No, Leliana.  I think diplomacy is the only real choice we have, if we want to remain legitimate in the eyes of Thedas."  She looked to Josephine.

"At once, Inquisitor."


	6. His Day in Court

For the first time since she had been called upon to pass judgment on others in her capacity as Inquisitor, Nyssa felt physically ill.  She’d been nervous before, as her word could mean doom or redemption for whomever stood before her.

As was her protocol, she always put on her formal armor, the gleaming gold scale mail, when she sat upon the Inquisition throne.  This was to divorce herself from her other selves:  the Herald of Andraste fighting pitched battled with demons and closing rifts to protect the people of Thedas, and Nyssa,  friend and confidante. 

She was all too aware of the irony of her position – a mage sitting in judgment of (mostly) non-mages, and she was also all too aware that many had probably assumed her position would be to punish as harshly as mages had been punished.  But Nyssa tended the other way:  if there were some good that could come of sparing someone – if they could be rehabilitated – that was her choice.  That made her responsible for their good behavior, and they were carefully watched.  Some, like Gereon Alexius, had after a time become steadfast members – albeit watched to make sure their loyalties were genuine.  While she could have taken ‘revenge’, it would not make the point that needed to be made:  that there _was_ a better way.

It had made her execution of Livius Erimond that much more emphatic.  He had truly been dangerous and unrepentant.  His magic made him too dangerous to hold.  As Inquisitor, she had not left his demise for others to carry out, but had done it herself with her ceremonial two-handed sword.    If she believed someone must die, she felt _she_ must take responsibility for that decision as well.

Today, as she stood behind the door in the cool, dim, dusty corridor that opened into the main hall near the dais, she fiddled with the hem of her armor, tugging it down and picking at imagined lint.  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for the door handle.  Exhaling sharply, she opened her eyes and plunged out into the main hall.

 

 

The hall was bright, with sunlight streaming in through the blue stained-glass windows behind the throne and shafts of gold light twinkling with dust motes shining down from the small windows high near the top of the roof.  It was warm, and full of murmuring witnesses to the spectacle of the Inquisitor’s Judgment.  Still, she felt chilled and wished fervently for a cup of that hot cocoa Bull had introduced to the Inner Circle.  

Dotted around the hall she could see many familiar faces – servants, nobles, merchants, soldiers.  Her companions, as well – one could hardly miss The Iron Bull standing with his arms folded over his chest, with Sera and Dorian, off to one side.  Dorian was speaking quietly with Bull, and Sera was sitting on the back of one of the high-backed wooden chairs, looking serious for once.

Varric was near the front of the crowd, half-moon glasses on and scratching away at a piece of paper he was leaning on a tattered looking log book.  Cassandra and Cullen stood to the right, near the entrance to the War Room, looking grim, their backs stiff.  It was clear they were furious with Bl—with Rainier.  And probably with her as well, for having him released to the Inquisition.

She looked up to the balcony and could see Vivienne at her divan, sipping tea.  Leliana was leaning on the railing just outside the door that lead from the library tower to the main hall and Vivienne’s balcony, her keen eyes missing nothing.  The only two she did not see were Cole and Solas.

 When she mounted the dais to sit on her throne, she saw something odd, but welcome – a steaming cup of hot cocoa.  

Nyssa lifted the cup from the seat and sipped it slowly, savoring the thick, rich flavor of creamy chocolate.  It warmed her, very nearly chasing away the chill she felt facing the murmuring crowd.   She turned to hand the empty cup to a servant and Cole was there, plucking it from her fingers and disappearing again.

 

She couldn’t delay any longer.  Nyssa turned, and sat.

When she did, Josephine stepped forward, her voice loud and clear.  “For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall.  His crimes.... well, you are aware of his crimes.”  Josephine looked toward the guards bringing Rainier before the Inquisitor.  “It was no small expense to bring him here, but…  the decision of what to do with him is now yours."

He stumbled, slightly, the chains around his wrists jangling, but he didn’t look up.

Nyssa looked down at him from her throne, and frowned.  She looked directly at him, ignoring the rest of the room.  He still looked broken and defeated, and he wouldn’t lift his head, staring at his chained hands.

Nyssa tried to speak, but the words – witty words she’d mocked Florianne with, stern words she’d pronounced as she recruited Alexius, harsh words she’d flung before taking Erimond’s head off and just words when delegating Dedrick to the Wardens wouldn’t come.  So, she didn’t speak as the Inquisitor.

"I didn't think this would be easy, but it's harder than I thought."

“Another thing to regret.”  He looked up again, his eyes bitter and disgusted.  “What of Josephine’s carefully cultivated reputation?  You had her call in favors to get me out.  The world will learn how you've used your influence.  They'll know the Inquisition is corrupt.”

Nyssa winced, then sighed.  “I wish there'd been another way, but my options were limited….”

He stood bolt upright, his brows drawn together in a fury.  “You could've **_left_** me there!  I **_accepted_** my punishment.  I was ready for all this to end.  Why would you stop it?”  He looked away, his voice trailing off in misery.   “What becomes of me now?”

What, indeed.  Nyssa shook herself.  Nobles made deals like this all the time.  Leaders made deals to seal alliances.  For better or worse, Orlais and the Inquisition were bound now.  And perhaps, that was all that needed to happen.  “You have your freedom.”

There was a murmur in the hall – a not entirely pleased one.  Even when ‘merciful’, her punishments were, in fact, a burden – work for the Inquisition, be my eyes, my researcher.  But what of a person who already _was_ a member of the Inquisition?  How was that punishment?  And it was no secret that they were more than friends.  Some of the grumbling in the hall reflected that.

“It _cannot_ be as simple as that.”  His tone was disbelieving.  She could not simply excuse him – although… that _had_ been what she’d done to the Warden Ser Ruth.

“It isn't.”  She waited for him to look up at her and held his eyes.  “You're free to atone as the man you _are_ , not the traitor you thought you were or the Warden you pretended to be.”

The idea stunned him, but she could see he realized the justice in it – to make good what he’d done, as best he could – as he’d done with Cyril Mornay.

“It will take time,” he said gravely, accepting her sentence.  “You would accept that?  And what I used to be?”  He looked up, hopeful, and started up the dais.

“I will accept no less than your best,” she said quietly.  She looked past him, to the soldiers behind him.  “Sergeant, his manacles, if you please.”

The murmurs grew more agitated.  Her heart constricted at the look in his eyes.

“My lady….”  He took another tentative step forward, as she rose from the throne, then up the second step.  “I lied about who I was, but I _never_ lied about what I felt.  No matter what I was or what becomes of me, right now, I am just a man with his heart laid bare.  I leave it in your hands.”

She threw a desperate look at Josephine, who stepped forward, flashing her a surprised look.  “Court is adjourned, good people.”

Nyssa walked down the dais past Rainier, who was rubbing his wrists and looking utterly resigned.  As she brushed past Josephine, she murmured, “Send him to my office,” and disappeared past Cullen and Cassandra into the corridor that led to Josephine’s office.


	7. Starting Over

Nyssa’s office, such as it was, was where she went when she _truly_ wanted to be alone.  She had discovered it while exploring Skyhold:  a very dusty and cobwebbed study, just off the unused dining room one level below the main hall.  It had been scrubbed clean, and was quiet and cool. 

Its proximity to the wine cellar and the kitchens was also convenient when she worked down here into the wee hours.  But the thing that recommended it most was that nobody came down here but the servants, and they gave her office a wide berth and their Inquisitor her privacy.

She heard his footsteps – reluctant, quiet, as if he were trying his best not to disturb her, and she turned to face him.  He stood there awkwardly, back stiff.  “You wanted to see me?” he asked very formally.

She stepped forward. 

“You asked me why I stopped your execution.  _Why_?” 

She stopped just before him looking up into his deep blue eyes.  They were shuttered, looking almost – past her.  As if seeing her were painful.

She sighed.  “What are we going to do with you?”

He frowned.  “I couldn’t tell you, Lady Inquisitor.”

“I stopped it,” she said quietly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, “because I didn’t want to face a world without you in it.” 

He blinked, and looked down at her, and his hand came up tentatively, to cup her cheek.  “Nyssa,” he said softly.

“I told you,” she said quietly, “there is good in you.  And I believe what we had was real.”  She looked down, and cursed inwardly as she felt tears spill down her cheeks.  “And I told you,” she said, “that I wouldn’t let you face it alone.  You’ve never let me face all _this_ alone.”

He gently wiped her tears away.  “Don’t cry about me,” he begged softly.  “I’m not worth it… I’m not….”

She looked up, sniffling.  “Who of us is,” she asked.  “Have you _looked_ at us?  Spies, thieves, heretics, murderers, apostates…. You’re in very good company.  And to be honest, you’re _still_ one of the best of us.”  She closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into his palm.  “You… keep me honest.   You counsel mercy.  You remind me of my responsibilities.  You.”  She looked up at him then, shaking her head slightly.  “That is not a monster.  That is a good and decent man – the man I fell in love with.”  She searched his eyes.  “I don't know where we'll end up, but I'm willing to give us a chance.”

He shook his head, worried.  “I... don't know how to be with you as Thom Rainier.”  He swallowed.  “I haven’t been him – _me_ , for a very long time.  I didn’t like the man I’d been.”

“You can be whatever Thom Rainier you want to be,” she said softly.  “As for us…. we'll figure it out,”

His arms came around her then, and Nyssa hugged him tightly.

“Together,” he agreed, and bent to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt that while dramatic, the court scene did have the problem Blackwall brings up -- that it's pretty clear that you've used your influence for personal reasons.
> 
> While that still remains true, here, at least, Nyssa tries to preserve some sense of propriety by having her reunion with Blackwall take place after the judgment, and away from prying eyes.


	8. Aftermath

The days since Nyssa had pardoned Thom Rainier had not been easy.

She hadn’t expected they would be; not really, anyway.  Some of her companions seemed to get over their shock and dismay rather quickly, but others were furious and openly contemptuous of him, since they seemed to feel that since she was their leader they could not voice their opinions directly to _her_. 

The most difficult part for her was the unspoken agreement between her and Thom that she would let him handle their companions’ censure.  She couldn’t very well fight his battles for him, and she supposed he saw this as part of his atonement for his crimes.  Still, it hurt to stand back and pretend not to hear some of the things said to him.

Cassandra was, as Nyssa had noted, implacably angry with him.  Even Thom’s quiet condolences after Cassandra’s apprentice Daniel had died were flung back in his face.  And Solas….  Nyssa didn’t understand the elven mage’s hostility in the least.  It was so deep rooted, so virulent – as if Thom had _personally_ offended him.  Nyssa wondered more than once whether Solas was actually angry with her – or with himself.

Vivienne, however, had taken her baiting to another level entirely, as they traveled through the Hissing Wastes.  The nights in the desert were chilled and uncomfortable enough without the well-bred sneering. 

“Well, you two seem to make each other _happy_ ,” Vivienne said suddenly, and Nyssa felt her spine stiffen involuntarily.  She bit her tongue so hard to keep from snapping at the mage she thought it might bleed.  Attacking Thom himself was to be expected.  But her comments were also now involving Nyssa. 

Nyssa could not afford to offend Vivienne directly – she was powerful politically and socially as well as skilled on the battlefield.  But Nyssa had been born noble, had risen to the respectable title of enchanter in her own Circle, and could easily have become a senior enchanter in time.  She knew a thing or two about how The Game was played, and resolved grimly that she must bide her time before showing her true ability – and her true goals.

    Thom sighed.  He knew as well as Nyssa this was going nowhere good.  Despite Vivienne’s constant insults regarding his intelligence, Nyssa found him quick-witted.  “ _And_? Surely, you're not ending this on a complimentary note.”

Nyssa didn’t need to turn:  Vivienne’s smirk was evidence even in her voice. “I was _just_ wondering how you imagined your future. The Inquisitor and the-- well, _whatever_ you are now.”

“Come on, Snowflake,”  Varric murmured, pointing at a nearby dune much like every other dune in this Maker-forsaken place.  “I think I saw s’more penis plant there.”

“Amrita Vein,” she corrected absently.

Varric gave her a look.  “And what does it look like?”

She gave him a blithe look.  “I wouldn’t know,” she said, blatantly daring him to contradict her with a raised eyebrow.

Varric smirked.  “If you say so.”

    “ Ah, I see. _You_ think we're a poor match.”  Thom turned to face Vivienne head-on.  “Lady Vivienne, _that_ woman there will stand with Thedas' mightiest because of who she is.  _She_ may choose whomever she pleases, even an undeserving nobody.” 

He let the silence draw out uncomfortably long; Vivienne had made no secret of her disdain for connections that brought no power or social cachet for her to him, to Varric, to the Inquistor herself – to anyone who would listen.  And Cole had publicly exposed her secrets some weeks ago, as he did to everyone.  Thom wasn’t cruel enough to bring them up directly, but he was very sure that she was thinking about how much had been bared to them all about her need for security and safety above all else.  “Envy her for her ability to love freely, but recognize that envy _is_ what it is.”

Vivienne recoiled slightly.  Clearly, she had not anticipated this:  that with his mask torn away, he no longer felt the need to endure her barbs quietly. 

“Jealous, Vivvy?”  Sera chimed in.  “Don’t be.  Even if you HAD realized how big-hat Nys would end up being, she’s not keen on the ladies.”

“Maker save me,” Nyssa muttered to Varric.

He patted her on the arm.  “Eh, you do fine saving yourself,” he said softly, then called over to Sera, “So – you find anymore Amrita Vein, Buttercup?”

“What – you mean _dickweed_?” Sera chortled.

 

* * *

 

Nyssa shivered before the fire.  It amazed her that the desert could be so blasted  hot during the day, and so frigid at night.

“Well,” Varric said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’d better go bunk with Buttercup before she gets it into her head to prank our Iron Lady.  Maker knows we could do without the ruckus that would start.”  He headed off, Bianca over his shoulder.

Nyssa looked around the campfire.  There were Inquisition soldiers standing guard around their five tents: three for Nyssa and her companions, and two for the scouts and soldiers.  Nyssa’s tent was the largest and she slept there alone; a tradition because she was their leader.  Which left the others to bunk up together and….

Nyssa looked across the fire to where Thom sat, and she followed his gaze, watching as Varric entered the tent Sera was in.  It took her a moment to realize that Varric’s choice had complicated matters; had he joined Vivienne, Thom could have bunked with Sera – the two of them acted like brother and sister and would have gotten along fine.  But Thom having to share with Vivienne…..

Thom looked back at the fire, and squared his shoulders, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.  He  sighed softly, and settled in for a long, cold night.

Nyssa got up dusted herself off.  She glanced at the rest of the campsite, then frowned, walking over to Thom.  “It’s late.  Best get to sleep.”

“I agree,” he said with resignation.  “I’ll see you in the morning, my lady.  I think I’ll sit up a bit more and….”

She shook her head.  “Thom.”

He looked up at her.

“It’s late, and it’s cold out here.”

He looked over to Vivienne’s tent.  “Still….”

She knelt beside him.  “Thom.  Go get your bedroll, and bring it to my tent,” she said, very patiently.

His eyes flew to her face, his surprise evident.  “My…..”

She met his gaze calmly. 

“My lady, I don’t know….”

She shrugged, and walked over to the wagon where the supplies were, and picked up the bedroll herself.  “I do.  You can’t sleep out here by the fire, and there’s no reason to when there’s room for you in a tent.”  She started walking toward her tent.

He got up, dusting himself off, and caught up to her.  “My lady – Nyssa….”  He glanced back at the guards, who were studiously looking elsewhere.  “It… it wouldn’t look right….”

She shook her head.  “No.  What doesn’t look right is you freezing out by the fire like an unwanted cur.”  She took his hand.  “Now, will you please stop being noble and long-suffering and come in out of the cold like a sensible fellow?”

He looked away.  “I… wouldn’t presume…..”

“You’re not.”  She raised her voice slightly, so that it carried across the camp – a trick of projection she’d learned long ago in the Circle and the Chantry as she sang at services.  “I want you in my tent – and I’d be much obliged if you joined me in my bedroll.”

He looked around hastily.  “ _Nyssa_ …”

“And I honestly don’t care who knows, and who approves or disapproves of it.  Now, Thom, will you join me – or am I sleeping beside you at the fire?”

He reached out and took his bedroll from her shoulder.  “Maker,” he said fervently, “If you’re sure…”

“Oi, she’s sure, Beardy!”  Sera’s voice lilted from her tent.  “Now go to sleep, or make some INTERESTING noises to keep us all up!”

Thom blushed, but followed along after Nyssa, Sera’s chortles and Varric’s chuckles ringing in his ears.

 

* * *

 

When they entered the tent,  Thom lingered at the tent flap, looking around for a place to set his bedroll.  Nyssa went straight to the nest of blankets and sleeping furs set at one side of the tent, then started unlacing her boots.

“Shall I…..” Thom said uncertainly.

Nyssa looked up, sighing.  “If… you’re uncomfortable about this, I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I know you were not going to join Vivienne in the other tent.”

Thom looked out the tent flap.  “Varric,” he said, shaking his head.  “If he’d just gone to the tent Vivienne’s in….”  He looked back at her, realization dawning.  “He set this up.”

Nyssa shrugged.   “Probably.”  She finished removing her boots, then pushed her hair behind her ear shyly.  “Do you really mind?”

He looked down.  “No,” he admitted.  “But I wouldn’t want to hurt your reputation.”

Nyssa stood.  “To hell with my reputation,” she said.  “I’m the Inquisitor.  For the moment, I’m Thedas’ darling.  Even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t care.”  She came over to him, and took his large calloused hands in her small, calloused hands.  “Now.  Would you prefer to sleep way over here…. Or are we going to snuggle up and keep each other warm?”

He shook his head.  “You really are fearless,” he marveled.

“No, I’m not.  But I’ve lost enough in my life not to fight for the things I love.”  She squeezed his hands, looking up at him solemnly, then let them go.

“Come to bed, Thom.  Please.”  Then she turned to remove her clothes carefully, folding them and setting them aside before sliding under her furs in breastband and smalls.

An eternity later, when she was almost drifting off to sleep, she felt the fur lift, and after the initial chill – a large, comforting warmth at her back.  She felt a protective arm drape across her hip, and a tentative kiss to her shoulder, and she smiled as she snuggled closer.

“Maker, I am a lucky man,” Thom murmured in her ear as they drifted off to sleep.


End file.
